


Chandler's Christmas Carol

by slightlytookish



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship, Getting Together, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, M/M, Post S4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 13:30:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlytookish/pseuds/slightlytookish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Chandler pushes Kent away in the aftermath of the Abrahamians case, it takes a very special intervention to set him back on the right path.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chandler's Christmas Carol

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after S4, so there are spoilers for the entire series.

Chandler knew it was wrong to wish for a call to come in but he couldn't help it. Investigating a horrific murder right now wouldn't solve his troubles but it would give him something to focus on, and it would even provide the perfect excuse for him to avoid the Christmas party that evening without drawing any extra attention to himself. Attention was the last thing he wanted, after the devastating ending to the Abrahamians case. Just the idea of having to walk into that party and face the stares and whispers of the other teams and his superiors was humiliating enough to make him watch the phone and will it to ring. 

But Whitechapel was nothing if not unpredictable, and the streets had been unusually quiet for more than a week now. Not even a stabbing had made its way onto Chandler's desk in days, and so the whole team had been forced to turn their attention to the cold case files. He was always at loose ends when they went too long between cases, and at this point Chandler would have welcomed as mundane a distraction as a lost dog. At least that would have given him something to do and something to think about aside from his own growing list of failures, and it would have been a better reason to avoid the party as well. A cold case, no matter how intriguing, simply wasn't a good enough excuse.

He was staring down at the file – which was actually quite dull, if he was truly honest with himself – when there was a knock at the door. 

"Sir," Kent said when he looked up, and the way that his hands were fidgeting gave Chandler a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "The others and I were talking about the party and we thought we might stop at the pub first. Just something to make it more bearable," he added with a smile. "Would you like to join us?"

Kent's careful use of "us" didn't escape Chandler's notice, nor did it fail to remind him of the last time Kent had invited him for a drink – a drink they had never got around to having, in the aftermath of the Abrahamians investigation. Last time Chandler had not hesitated to say yes, even though he had been fully aware that he hadn't been asked out of politeness, but rather because of Kent's feelings for him. As it happened, Chandler shared those same feelings, though it had taken him much longer to recognise them for what they were, and even longer for him not to panic whenever he thought of them. But he had been in such high spirits that day, with the case solved and the suspects alive for a change, that it had been easy for him to say yes. It had been so easy for him to imagine that he could be happy. 

But now – now Chandler had had far too much time to think about it, to think about Kent and himself and every possible reason why nothing could ever happen between them. There was the fact that he was Kent's superior officer and hadn't Chandler and his team made enough enemies over the years for him to worry that someone would find a way to use that information against them? Then there was the fact that he was so much older than Kent – it had to be about ten years by Chandler's reckoning, and wasn't the fact that he didn't know the precise number problematic in its own way? 

And then there was Chandler himself. Everything about him had taken a turn for the worse after the Abrahamians case fell through. He barely had a handle on his OCD at the best of times, and when he was as stressed as he was now it became even more difficult for him to manage it. He was often irritable and snapped at his team, which made everyone uncomfortable, though Miles was the only one that ever complained about it. The worst part of it all was that he had no idea how to stop any of it, how to move past what had happened and go back to normal – or at least, what passed as normal for Chandler. Kent didn't deserve someone like him. No one did.

And so Chandler turned back to the file and said, "I'm not going to the party."

"Oh," Kent said, sounding surprised. He sounded disappointed too, Chandler thought, before mentally scolding himself for reading far too much in one short word. "You could still come to the pub, sir. I – we'd love to have you there."

Chandler rubbed his brow and forced himself to look up. He owed that to Kent, at least. "We can't do this."

The faint smile that had lingered on Kent's face dropped off completely. "Sir?"

"I was wrong to say yes last time," he said. "I was wrong to give you false hope when there's no future for us."

Kent stared at him, his hands curled around each other, frozen in mid-fidget. Chandler had never seen such a raw expression of hurt on his face – and he had hurt Kent more times than he cared to remember. He felt something twist deep in his chest but pressed on. "I think it would be for the best if you refrained from asking me to accompany you elsewhere in the future."

A moment passed, during which Kent seemed to be gathering himself enough to speak. "Yes, sir," he said at last, before turning to the door. He didn't slam it or do anything so dramatic, but Chandler caught a glimpse of his face just before he turned and saw the rapid blinking of his eyes. He remembered Ed telling him that he'd seen Kent crying in the car park after Chandler had suspended him during the Kray case and wondered if he was going there now. The thought made something cold and unpleasant settle in his stomach.

He forced himself not to track Kent's movements and turned his attention to the file once more. The words swam before his eyes and Chandler didn't even pretend that he understood anything that he attempted to read. He was saved from trying to appear busy by the arrival of Miles, who didn't bother knocking and who was dramatic enough to shut the door with a loud snap that forced Chandler to look up.

"What just happened with Kent?" he demanded. "He's got a face like it's the end of the world."

"It's nothing, Miles. Now if you don't mind…" Chandler gestured to the open file on the desk.

"Don't give me that," Miles said irritably. "That file is older than you are. It'll keep for another minute. Now, _sir_ , what happened with Kent?" He helped himself to a seat and fixed Chandler with a glare.

Chandler resisted for a moment before giving a defeated sigh. "I'm fairly certain that Kent has feelings for me."

"World's greatest detective, you are," Miles said dryly. "What about it?" 

Chandler paused. He'd never given much thought to what Miles' reaction might be, but he was sure that he never would have imagined that. Miles was observant, worryingly so at times, and it made Chandler squirm a little to think of what else his sergeant might have noticed and filed away for future reference. "I merely made it clear to him that he shouldn't. Have them, I mean."

Miles narrowed his eyes. "Is this because you don't feel the same, or because you think you _shouldn't_ feel the same?"

Heaving another sigh, Chandler reached for his jar of Tiger Balm and massaged some of it onto his temples. He could feel a powerful headache coming on. "Does it really matter?"

"Of course it matters!" Miles snapped. "No wonder the lad looked like he'd just had his heart ripped out, with you saying things like that."

Chandler winced as he remembered the terrible expression of hurt on Kent's face. "It would be impossible, Miles. Surely you could see that."

"Don't give me that," Miles said again, but gentler now. "We've all seen enough impossible things in the past few months to know that nothing is impossible. Except for you, of course. You're always impossible."

Chandler slid the jar of Tiger Balm across his desk to sit beside his watch. "My feelings don't matter. They can't matter. It would never work, Miles. I'd drive him away eventually, just by being myself. You know I would."

"So you'd rather drive him away now, is that it?" Miles sat back and regarded him with something like pity in his eyes. Chandler thought he preferred seeing anger there instead. "What bothers you most, the fact that you work together? That someone outside our team might find out and cause trouble? Or is it Kent himself?"

"No," Chandler said sharply. "Never that."

"Well, that's a start," Miles said, giving him one of his annoyingly perceptive looks. "I don't suppose you'd say the same to Kent, if I fetched him back?"

"Miles. Don't interfere."

Miles' mouth twisted unhappily, but he seemed to realise that he wasn't going to change Chandler's mind any time soon. "And I don't suppose you'll be coming to the party later?"

"No. Would you give my apologies to-"

"To any of the higher-ups that might be there," Miles finished for him wearily. "All right. Are you going to stay and work through the night, then?"

When Chandler didn't answer, Miles merely stood and headed to the door.

*

After spending a solid hour rearranging his desk (he told himself that it was a good way of avoiding his team, but he knew there was more to it than that), Chandler visited the archives and gathered a stack of ancient files with the intention of barricading himself behind them for the rest of the afternoon. Ed parted with them willingly enough but when Chandler went to leave he followed him to the door.

"Joe," he said, slipping off his glasses and giving Chandler a look of concern, "I couldn't help noticing that Kent-"

"I don't want to hear it, Ed."

"I just thought you ought to know-"

"I won't say it again."

Ed held up his hands, a picture of defeat. "Very well," he said, his voice dripping with obvious disapproval as he returned to his desk and buried his nose in a manuscript.

Chandler ignored him, just as he ignored the pointed glares that Riley and Mansell sent his way when he returned to the incident room. It was more difficult to ignore the sight of Kent at his desk, sitting hunched over a file with a look of undisguised misery on his face, but Chandler forced himself to walk past without saying a word. 

Instead he headed straight into his office and buried himself in the files until he heard the others getting ready to leave. Chairs rolled away from their desks, drawers opened and closed, coats were put on, and all the while Chandler kept his eyes firmly on the page in front of him, only glancing up when Miles knocked once on the door.

"Fancy a drink? You look like you could use one, and we don't have to go to the pub with the others."

Chandler forced himself to smile, though it felt more like a grimace. "No, Miles, thank you. I wouldn't be good company tonight."

Miles looked like he wanted to say something else, but in the end he merely nodded. "'Night, boss," he said, tugging on his coat.

"Goodnight." Chandler watched him go; the others had already left without him noticing, and the incident room grew silent after Miles' footsteps died away. With a tired sigh Chandler closed the file and pushed it aside. His head was still aching and he knew that he should go home, have a shower and some dinner and crawl into bed to sleep this day away, but he didn't want to go back to his dark and empty flat. 

He stared at the stack of files without really seeing them. Instead he saw before his mind's eye that terrible wounded expression on Kent's face. It was the sort of look that he never wanted to see again, though Chandler thought he probably wouldn't have the opportunity to cause it in the future. He had burnt that bridge quite spectacularly today and if Kent had a brain at all – and Chandler had always thought him clever – he would steer clear of him from now on. 

Shaking himself free of these thoughts, Chandler reached for another file. This one was nearly sixty years old and the handwriting within was atrocious. Chandler rubbed at his eyes and squinted. Hadn't anyone thought to use a typewriter? 

He didn't know when he had dozed off but he woke with a start at the sound of a heavy thump nearby. He sat up, blinking under the overhead lights, and froze in mid-yawn when he noticed the figure standing before him.

"Ed," he said slowly. "What are you wearing?"

Ed peered down at himself curiously. "It's not something I would have chosen for myself but it isn't so bad," he said, giving a little twirl so that the long white shift billowed around him. "It's comfortable, at least."

Chandler stared at him in confusion. "Are you drunk?"

"Drunk on knowledge, perhaps," Ed replied in his usual melodramatic way. He gestured grandly to the box of files at his feet, which at least explained the noise that had awakened Chandler. "Aren't you wondering what these are?"

"Are you absolutely certain you're not drunk?"

Ed pursed his lips in irritation and did not answer. "I bring you proof," he said instead, "that there is a precedent for relationships between members of the police. Every one of these files contains information about those relationships. I have taken the liberty of compiling a list of each of them, with an emphasis on the relationships between officers of different ranks-"

"But how could you possibly know any of this?" Chandler broke in with a laugh. "This is absurd."

"I have my ways," Ed said cryptically as he pressed a folder into Chandler's hands. A quick glance through the pages revealed that there were at least fifty years' worth of couples listed there, along with dates and locations and other miscellaneous information that neither one of them had any business knowing.

"If you care to peruse the files, you will find that in most cases the couples were discreet and their colleagues were surprisingly tolerant. Quite often their superiors weren't even aware of the relationships in question, and I found fewer instances of disciplinary action than I imagined. So as you can see," Ed added, looking pleased with himself, "a romantic relationship between you and Kent would be quite feasible. There is already a historical precedent for it."

"But Kent and I are not in a relationship."

"Yet. Of course, I cannot see the future. My gifts are devoted entirely to the past."

"Wait a minute," Chandler said, letting the folder fall to his desk. He eyed Ed suspiciously, once again taking in the odd-looking white gown, which now seemed to be glowing faintly from within. "This is like something out of Dickens. Is this some kind of joke?"

"I speak only the truth," Ed said, holding up his hands just as he had earlier in the day. The sight of it, or maybe the reminder of it, made Chandler feel unsettled. "This isn't a trick, or a game, or a prank. I simply want to help you, Joe."

"No," Chandler said. "This – all of this – is impossible."

"Is it?" Ed smiled. "Does it really surprise you that something like this could happen in Whitechapel?"

Chandler had no answer for that, nor did it appear that Ed expected one. 

"I'll just leave you to your reading," he said, heading to the door. His gown was glowing so brightly now that Chandler had to look away. "Goodnight, Joe."

When the light faded Chandler looked up again, rubbing at the spots in his eyes, and supposed that he shouldn't be at all shocked to see Miles standing before him in a white gown of his own. "You've got to be joking."

"What?" Miles looked down at himself, pulled a face, and snapped his fingers. In a flash the gown was gone, replaced by the suit he'd been wearing earlier that day. "You're right," he said. "That's not the sort of thing I'd wear at all."

"Ed seemed quite happy in his gown."

"I always told you there was something funny about him," Miles said as he settled in his usual chair. "You seem calmer than I expected."

"What are a few more ghosts in Whitechapel?"

"Good point." Miles eyed him steadily. "Would you like to know what's happening at the party right now?"

"I don't suppose I have much of a choice."

Miles rolled his eyes and pressed on. "Mansell's trying to get Kent drunk, Riley's trying to get Kent drunk, even _Buchan's_ trying to get Kent drunk. It's not working, though. He mostly keeps staring into his beer and calling himself stupid. It's probably for the best, though. Maybe this time he won't come to work with writing on his face."

"I didn't want to hurt him," Chandler said quietly. "I just thought a clean break was preferable to…"

"To either one of you having a shred of happiness?" Miles said shrewdly. "After everything that's happened lately, don't you think you two deserve something good for a change?"

"Miles, I-"

"You've got problems. Don't I know it? And doesn't he? We've all been living in each other's pockets for too long now to hide anything." Miles shook his head with an air of pure exasperation. "We've all seen each other at our worst, but maybe that's not such a bad thing. At least there won't be any nasty surprises later. And what, do you really think Kent's so well-adjusted? That he doesn't have his own share of problems? I know you haven't forgotten the Kray case. If you ask me, the lad should've seen a counsellor after that, or at least taken some time off to heal properly. More time than that suspension you gave him, at least."

Chandler closed his eyes at the memory. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I'd knock your heads together if I could," Miles said, sounding fond. "But since you've been more of an idiot today, here I am, nattering away at you."

Chandler smiled. "This is all in my head, isn't it?"

"Just because it's happening in your head doesn't mean it's not real." At Chandler's questioning look Miles shrugged. "Sorry. The kids love Harry Potter." 

Chandler laughed and shook his head, and Miles grinned back. "Now, are you going to get off your arse and come to the party? Patch things up with Kent and have a happy Christmas and all that?"

"Miles…"

"Yeah, I didn't think it'd be that easy." Miles stood with a shake of his head. There was a light shining behind him, growing steadily brighter until Chandler had to look away. When he glanced back Miles was gone, and in his place was an old woman dressed in red.

"You," Chandler said, looking into the face of Louise Iver. He stood abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair, but she merely smiled up at him.

"It's good to see you again," she said as she wandered around Chandler's office, peering at the filing cabinet in the corner, tugging idly at the shade on the door. When she stopped before his desk and reached for one of the files he held up a hand to stop her and she smiled, backing away.

"If you're worried that people will find out about you and this young man," she said as she settled in a chair. "You shouldn't. No one will know unless you tell them. There will be no scandal, no reprimands from above. No adverse effect on either of your careers. Although," she added, smiling again, "you and your team do quite a good job of sabotaging your careers all on your own. You needn't bring your personal lives into it."

"It was your doing," Chandler said, remembering the nails in the pipes and Miles' suspicions. "I don't know how you did it but it was you who sabotaged the Abrahamians case, not anyone on my team."

"If that helps you sleep better at night," she said with a careless shrug. "But back to you and your young man-" 

"If you ever go near him, I'll-"

"Oh my," she said, chuckling. "You care more about him than I thought. It's good that we had this little discussion. Now perhaps you might do something about it."

"What makes you think I would ever believe anything you say?"

"Of course you do," she replied, looking pleased as she turned towards the door. "I was right about your legacy, wasn't I?" 

Chandler glared at her back, not willing to give her any more satisfaction. But at the last moment he couldn't help himself and said, "Why did you do it?"

She glanced back at him and smiled. "I thought you might ask that," she said, and vanished from sight. 

Chandler woke to find his face pressed against his desk. With a groan he sat up, yanking away the paper that was stuck to his forehead in irritation. A glance told him it was one of the documents from that old file with the terrible handwriting, and another glance told him that the box of files that Ed – or whatever it was – had brought had disappeared, if they had ever been there at all. Chandler groaned again and rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to smooth away the crick that had formed as he slept, before giving it up and heaving himself to his feet.

He didn't know if it had been a dream, or a vision, but it was one of the strangest things that he had ever experienced – and that was saying a lot, considering the sort of cases that always seemed to fall into his lap. At one time he would have dismissed it straight away, just as he had dismissed the medium's message from his father. But now he knew better than to ignore another message – and more than that, he didn't want to, even if it was just his imagination running wild. At the very least, he was going to encourage Miles to resume his investigation of Louise Iver at the earliest opportunity, even if it ended up amounting to nothing. But now his priority was Kent; he had to find to him right away, and hope that it wasn't too late. 

Less than two hours had passed since his team had left for the party. Chandler knew that he didn't have to hurry but he wanted to, all the same. 

*

When Chandler arrived the party was still in full swing, though it seemed that most of the food and drinks were gone – the drinks in particular, he thought as he sidestepped a group of young uniforms staggering past in clothes that would have been better suited for a club than an official work do. 

There was a dance floor off to the side and when Chandler squinted through the lights flashing in time to the music he spotted Mansell, Riley, and Ed dancing amongst the crowd. Chandler made it past without attracting their attention and headed towards the tinsel-strewn tables at the back.

He saw Miles right away, polishing off a slice of cake as he chatted with a small knot of detectives from some of the other teams. Kent, however, was nowhere to be found and Chandler couldn't help but worry that he'd gone home already. He caught Miles' eye, and his sergeant took one look at Chandler and immediately detached himself from the group and came over to meet him. 

"Where's Kent?" Chandler asked as soon as he and Miles were alone.

"Hello to you, too," Miles said, though he sounded more amused than anything else. He eyed Chandler's face carefully and nodded, apparently pleased with whatever he saw there. "Did you finally come to your senses, then? Took you long enough. The cake's all gone."

"Miles, please. You can gloat all you want later and call me an idiot and quote Harry Potter for all I care, but I really do need to speak to Kent right now. It's quite urgent."

"Why the hell would I quote Harry Potter?" Miles demanded. 

"Never mind," Chandler said impatiently. "Kent?" 

"He wanted to get some air, he said. Through there," Miles said, nodding at a back door that was propped open with a chair. "Lucky for you he's still sober, though that lot tried their best to get him pissed," he added, jerking his thumb in the direction of the dance floor. "Go on. I'll keep them from sticking their noses where they don't belong."

"Thank you," he said, squeezing Miles' shoulder gratefully and making a mental note to buy him something very nice for Christmas, for putting up with him.

Chandler took a deep breath to steady himself before edging his way around the half-open door. In the moment it took for his eyes to adjust to the darkness he nearly tripped over Kent, sitting hunched on the step just as he had been at work earlier, and looking just as miserable. Chandler scrambled to get out of the way and stumbled, pitching to the side. He would have fallen over if Kent hadn't reached up and grabbed one of his flailing arms, steadying him.

"Sorry," Kent said, getting to his feet. "I didn't think anyone-" He trailed off as soon as he realised it was Chandler, and dropped his arm as if it had burned him. "Sir?"

"Kent." Chandler swallowed heavily, unsure where to begin. He looked at Kent, who wouldn't meet his eyes and seemed like he wanted to be anywhere but there with him, and felt his heart clench. "I wanted to apologise. I was cruel to you earlier – horribly cruel. And what's more, I-" He stopped abruptly when Kent shook his head.

"I should apologise to you, sir," Kent said, still not looking at him. "For… well, for wanting too much, and for too long." He trailed off, looking even more uncomfortable than he had before, if that was possible. "Do you think we could put this behind us, sir? Just forget all about it?"

"No."

At this, Kent finally met his eyes and Chandler could see the emotions flitting across his face, from shock to disappointment to grief. "No?"

"I don't think I could forget about it," Chandler said quietly. "Not when I wanted just as much."

He could pinpoint the exact moment that his words sank in by the way Kent's eyes widened with surprise – and with hope, Chandler realised, though he wasn't sure he deserved that. "Do you really mean that?"

"It frightened me," Chandler admitted. "And it confused me, and it made me behave like an idiot. So yes, I do." 

Kent's face broke into a smile but out of the corner of his eye Chandler could see his hands fidgeting nervously again. He impulsively reached for them; they felt cold and tense, and just when Chandler started to feel ridiculous and wondered if it had all been a terrible idea Kent's fingers folded around his own and his smile shifted from slightly uncertain to entirely pleased. It was enough to make Chandler release a breath that he hadn't known he'd been holding and smile at him in return.

His smile seemed to embolden Kent, who let go of one hand to reach up and rest his palm against Chandler's cheek. His thumb brushed against the corner of Chandler's mouth but he quickly slid it away, watching him carefully all the while as if he was afraid of spooking him, or as if he expected Chandler to call it all off at any moment. Maybe that was why Kent looked so surprised when Chandler took a step closer instead, and leaned down to kiss him. 

The kiss was soft and hesitant at first, and his mind raced with doubts: what if Kent didn't really want this, what if he did something wrong, what on earth should he do with his hands? But then Kent curled his fingers around Chandler's jaw and tugged him a little closer, changing the angle and deepening the kiss just enough that Chandler felt himself falling into it. All of the thoughts and insecurities that usually clamoured for his attention grew quiet in a way that he wasn't used to and Chandler let his eyes slip closed, finally relaxing. 

When the kiss ended they drew apart slowly and Chandler saw that his hands had settled at Kent's waist (they had known what to do, after all). He was in no hurry to let go just yet; the kiss had left him breathless and reeling in a good way, and keeping Kent close served to anchor him somehow. Kent appeared just as stunned as he felt, but then their eyes met and he grinned, looking happier than Chandler had ever seen him. 

All smiles aside, Chandler couldn't help wondering where they stood. Where did they go from here? Would it be normal to ask Kent? Surely couples discussed this sort of thing. Could they even be considered a couple yet? He was probably getting ahead of himself. Chandler could feel his insecurities starting to creep back.

"I was thinking," Kent said, because he always seemed to notice when something was bothering him. "We never did go to the pub." He slipped his hand into Chandler's and gave it a reassuring squeeze. 

His anxieties didn't disappear, but they receded into the background, and Chandler found himself smiling. That was one question answered, at least. Where did they go from here? To the pub, of course. "Would you like to go now?" he asked, squeezing Kent's hand gratefully in return. 

"I'd love to," Kent said, grinning again. It was the sort of smile that Chandler wanted to see more of in the future – before he realised that he could see it again right now and stole another kiss, surprising a laugh out of them both. 

"We'd better say goodnight to the others," Chandler said. He didn't suppose that the rest of the team wouldn't notice that something had changed between him and Kent – or at least, that they would pretend not to notice. He could imagine the waggling eyebrows and knowing smiles already.

"They'll probably never let us hear the end of it," Kent replied, sounding resigned but not looking too bothered by the fact, if his grin was any indication. He caught Chandler's eye and his expression softened in a way that made Chandler's heart do a strange little flip. "Right now I think I could live with any amount of Mansell's teasing."

"I feel the same," Chandler said, smiling, though he wasn't exactly looking forward to listening to Miles find new and interesting ways of saying _I told you so_. Still, his smile didn't falter even when he held the door open for Kent so that they could return to the party to make their excuses and accept their share of good-natured ribbing, before heading to the pub and whatever else lay ahead of them. For once, Chandler wasn't worried.


End file.
